


love is love is love is love (cannot be killed or swept aside)

by leopxld_fitz



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, cw for later chapters for mentions of dark historical events and mentions of past homophobia, lots and lots of pride, no pandemic here, patrick brewer gets to feel a lot of feelings and be very loved, post-6x14, published in June but set in October so we have our gay months covered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24356473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopxld_fitz/pseuds/leopxld_fitz
Summary: When Patrick’s feeling disconnected from gay culture, David arranges a whirlwind trip to New York to show him everything he knows. A Pride Month fic about joy, history, and being fearlessly yourself - no matter where you are.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 30
Kudos: 154





	1. Pride Flag Territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (almost) Pride Month! This fic has 8 chapters and will update weekly on Sundays. Rated T for language, vague mentions of drug use, and for discussions about historical LGBTQ+ events, such as the AIDS crisis and police raids, in chapter 4. This whole thing was beta'd by my girlfriend, as always, and I have fed her many snacks for her hard work and am very grateful for her. You can find me any time on Tumblr at leopxld-fitz!

David starts to notice it about six months after they get married, just as October adds a chill to the air and a tint to the leaves of the trees. 

It’s almost imperceptible at first. Patrick isn’t visibly upset, really. He just seems...a little checked out. More distracted. He passes up (or outright misses) enough opportunities to roast his husband that David notices. Patrick is many things, and he’s definitely not as...loud as David is, but he’s also not usually this quiet. 

David tries to ask without prying, but Patrick just denies that anything is wrong. Which isn’t particularly surprising. He - again, unlike David - tends not to like to talk about things that are upsetting him. Like talking about it out loud would somehow make it worse than it clearly already is in his head. It’s a feeling David can’t relate to, but it’s one he recognizes from his partner by now. This is something that Patrick, apparently, wants to work through on his own. Reluctantly, David lets it go. 

He lets it go, that is, until Patrick gets sad. Just a few days later, Patrick’s not acting like himself, and it makes David’s insides clench uncomfortably. It disquiets him a great deal to see his usually steady husband suddenly take a downturn. Not that David has never had to help Patrick through things before, but to do it with no warning or reason was...concerning. 

He watches him go around the store, quietly doing inventory or straightening things. He’s deep in his head, David can tell that much, but he doesn’t want to try to approach him about it at work. Work Patrick was professional and buttoned up on a good day. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with whatever was bothering him in this environment. So David bides his time and tries to make the day easier for him. He keeps the tea flowing, and brings him lunch to remind him to eat, and takes care of the customers, all the while sparing worried glances at Patrick when he doesn’t think he’s looking. He’s still learning how to do this, but he’s trying.

The walk home is quiet and Patrick keeps his hands in his pockets, leaving David to twist uneasily at his own fingers. If Patrick notices his fidgeting, he doesn’t let on. But David’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice. Right? 

When they close the door behind him at home, the first husky words out of Patrick’s mouth that he’s heard in hours are, “I’m gonna go take a shower,” and then he’s off without even taking his shoes off, leaving David standing, confused, in their foyer. 

Then, for the first time since all this started, David has a dangerous, traitorous thought. 

_Is this my fault?_

And that’s all it takes for the anxiety to begin clawing its way up his throat, making it feel tight and the room feel hot and small. With wide eyes, he blinks a few times, trying to make himself take deep breaths, moving to go sit on the couch. His thoughts swirl as he smooths his palms over his knees, staring straight ahead. He racks his brain, looking for ways he’s messed up, things he’s done wrong, ways he could have accidentally insulted Patrick. Any way that he could have blindly, innocently ended his marriage before it’d even begun. Any sign that he’d finally messed up the good in his life, like he’d always suspected he would. In a panic, his brain reaches out to his last vestige of sanity, conveniently located on the outside of his body: 

**David:** hey do you know if there are warning signs that someone is about to divorce you

He sets his phone to the side, prepared to wait, but it dings back nearly instantly. 

**Stevie:** are you high

He rolls his eyes, leg bouncing, and taps out a reply. 

**David:** helpful! thanks.

 **Stevie:** it was an honest question  
**Stevie:** you can get kinda paranoid when you’re high if it’s the wrong stuff  
**Stevie:** just wondering if this is that or a garden variety freak out

 **David:** i am sober and soon to be single because i’m pretty sure patrick is breaking up with me

 **Stevie:** sure  
**Stevie:** first of all, good for patrick

 **David:** fuck off

 **Stevie:** second, is this like the time he told you that he thought your business idea was bad, by chance

 **David:** i’m being serious

 **Stevie:** so am i  
**Stevie:** david, patrick is not divorcing you  
**Stevie:** what even makes you think that

 **David:** he’s barely spoken to me all week. when we got home from the store he just went and showered. 

**Stevie:** okay so i’m assuming that, because you’re contacting me, you know this sounds ridiculous 

David considers the most recent text, pulling his legs up on the couch, curling around his knees. She has a point. She usually does. 

**David:** i’m just worried! 

**Stevie:** have you tried speaking to him with words

 **David:** yes, he said nothing’s wrong

 **Stevie:** man, what could he possibly mean by that i wonder

 **David:** he’s been acting weird all week. he’s quiet and sad and i’m just worried that i caused it somehow and that he’s just too polite to tell me

 **Stevie:** if he’s mad at you, he’ll come to you when he’s ready. patrick’s just broody. we know this.  
**Stevie:** you’re just anxious. nothing bad is happening to your relationship  
**Stevie:** although if it is, you’re not living with me. our friendship can’t take that. but i will board you back at your previous residence for free. 

**David:** as if my skincare routine could fit in your cabinet  
**David:** thank you

 **Stevie:** i’d say that’s what i’m here for, but i don’t want to encourage this  
**Stevie:** it’s very sweet that you’re this worried about your husband, for the record. kind of infuriatingly so. you guys are strong. it’s all gonna be ok.

David sets his phone to the side, feeling mildly calmer, though still not all the way convinced. Stevie is probably right in that Patrick isn’t planning an imminent divorce, but this could very well still all be his fault. 

By the time Patrick’s finally finished with his shower, David’s lit a patchouli candle to cleanse the space and is pacing mildly in the kitchen. 

Patrick emerges, hair damp, worn pajamas on, and comes to a stop when he sees the general state of his husband. “Hi,” he greets cautiously, eyes a bit narrowed, the suspicious hint of a smile tugging on his lips. 

David halts. “Hi.” 

Patrick eyes him, but takes his time crossing to the fridge, pulling out his reusable water bottle and taking a long swig from it. “What’s up?” he asks, and manages to sound amused. 

Part of David wishes, then and there, that he wasn’t so visibly freaked out, especially now that it sounds like Patrick’s doing better. Stevie was right, which he hates. Still, he knows himself, and it’s better to just get it out in the open than let it fester. Great leaps in logic have already been made, and there’s no scaling back up that cliff. “Um,” David closes his eyes, lips slightly pursed. “So you’re not like, Googling divorce lawyers or anything, are you?” The eyes open, a slight grimace on his face. 

The answering expression on Patrick’s face nearly breaks him. “What?” he asks, face looking the same way it did when David asked him if he had regrets after their first kiss. Something between deeply confused and deeply sad that he had to ask. “No. Why would I - “ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. He puts the water down, crossing to still his husband’s fluttering hands, clasping them in his own. His eye contact is strong and unwavering. “David. I don’t really know what’s going on, but I wanna be really clear here: I am, in no way, shape, or form, thinking about divorcing you. Okay? Let’s just stop that one in its tracks.” He lets his hands drop, though his expression stays concerned. “Do you want to talk to me about what’s going on?” 

_Of course_ Patrick is worried about him now when the whole reason David’s this worked up in the first place is because _he_ was worried about _Patrick_. The whole thing is so adorably, typically self-sacrificing. David’s head shakes a little, his voice high and tight with anxiety. “I was worried about you!” he exclaims, hands reaching out to smooth over Patrick’s shoulders. “I thought...I don’t know, that I’d done something wrong and that’s why you’ve been acting weird all week.” 

Something close to defensive passes over Patrick’s face, and it’s another expression that David recognizes. It’s a tried and true “Patrick Brewer Doesn’t Want to Discuss This” face that he can remember seeing back when David asked if his parents knew about them. It’s not a great sign.  
  
Patrick physically steps out from under David’s hands and goes back to the other side of the kitchen, reaching for his water bottle, like it’d provide an excuse for suddenly needing to get away. “Why would you be worried?” he asks, and he takes another drink to give himself something to do. “I thought we talked about this. I’m good, David. Really.” 

David’s mouth twists, sliding across his face and then back again. “Okay,” he says after a moment, eyebrows up, face open. He’s careful to make sure there’s nothing demanding in his voice. Nothing that could cause Patrick to retreat on him. “Yes, we did talk about it, but also...I married you, Patrick Brewer. And I think I know you a little better than that by now.” 

Patrick holds his eyes for a moment, all raw hesitancy and hurt, and then drops his gaze to the cap on his water bottle, still in his hand, and taps it lightly a few times against his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he finally tells him. “It’s got nothing to do with you, really.”

David waits a moment, but when he doesn’t say anything else he takes a few slow steps closer to Patrick, trying to catch his eyes again. “You can talk to me...about _anything_ ,” David tells him, head moving back on his neck a bit with the amount of quiet conviction in his voice. “I can tell that you aren’t feeling like yourself lately. And...I just want you to know that I am here for you. One hundred percent.” 

Patrick peers up at him, a sad smile on his face. “I know,” he confirms, face unbearably fond, eyes as big and warm as ever. It does wonders for any leftover worries David has about his marital status, even if it doesn’t reassure him that his husband’s really _okay._ Patrick clears his throat some, looking to the side briefly before adding, “Thank you. For what you did at the store today. The tea and the lunch. I really appreciated it.” 

David waves a hand as if it was nothing, even though he was kind of hoping that the gestures had gotten through Patrick’s haze. If only to show him someone cared. “I love you,” David tells him, eyes locking onto his husband’s. He reaches out and takes Patrick’s hand, slowly lacing their fingers together. He takes another step closer. “I just want to help.” 

Patrick takes a deep breath in through his nose, and how nervous he looks is leaving David feeling shaken. For a bizarre moment, he thinks Patrick’s about to come out to him. Sexually he thinks they’ve got it figured out, but there’s still time for Patrick to switch things up in the gender category. Not that it’d matter to David - he’d love the person he married no matter what. 

He’s looking down when he finally opens up. “Do you remember last week, when you used the term ‘realness’?” 

David blinks a few times. Whatever he was anticipating, it wasn’t that. “Uh. I mean. Yes, yeah. Mmhm. I do.” 

“And...I didn’t really know what it meant…” Patrick prompts, gesturing a hand out like he’s just sort of hoping David will get where he’s going with this. 

David nods slowly, eyes looking at the ceiling as he recalls. “You thought it was just from Drag Race,” he supplies. 

The hand falls to Patrick’s side, and he looks sad. “Exactly,” he agrees, and David...does _not_ get it, but he listens anyway. “I had no idea. About ball culture, or about...any of it. You had to tell me.” 

David’s free hand slowly drifts up to rest a fist on his hip as he listens. “Okay, to be fair,” he says, and the hand is back out, wrist turned, palm flat towards the sky. An offering. “I lived in New York. And, sadly, I think plenty of very queer people don’t know about ballroom. Well. Probably more, now that _Pose_ is a thing, but I don’t think you’re alone.” 

Patrick sucks in a breath through his teeth. He turns his head, neck tense. “Yeah, but that’s just it,” he forces out a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I don’t...I don’t know about anything, really. I don’t know...I mean in school we briefly touched on AIDS, I know Stonewall happened, but I don’t really know any details. I’m just disconnected from it. The culture.”

David’s eyelids flutter as he processes. “Okay,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time to him in minutes. It’s him verbally acknowledging, catching up. “Well, we can fix that. There is no shortage of literature on the subject. Maybe not at Elmdale’s library, but I’m sure we could order some books online, as well as some great documentaries like _Paris is Burning_ -” 

“I mean me, as a person,” Patrick cuts in, expression imploring his husband to understand. “I’m...I mean I’m gay, yes - “

“Thank God for small favors,” David mumbles. 

Patrick continues like he didn’t hear. “ - and I have a husband, but...that’s kind of it. Other than that, I don’t know anything about...gay culture. I went to school for business and I play baseball. That’s not exactly pride flag territory.” 

“It _is_ pride flag territory because it’s _you_ territory,” David objects. “It’s queer on principal just because you’re there doing it. Also, nothing revolutionary is going to happen with _that_ attitude -”

“I don’t even have any gay friends!” Patrick barrels on, exasperated. “I know two other...LGBT people in this town and one of them hates me because I accused her of sabotaging our bathroom and the other one is your ex.”   
  
That earns a face, expression coming into a single point like someone had pulled on drawstrings around his face. “Would we call Jake an ex?” 

“ _David,_ ” Patrick says.   
  
David holds up both hands, gesturing with them in tandem. “Okay! Fine, fine,” he concedes, wrists turning. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to hang out with Jake.” 

Patrick rubs a hand tiredly over his face, and he looks so _sad_. “I just...I just feel like a bad - “

“No, no, no,” David interrupts, because he can’t bear to listen to the end of that sentence. He pulls Patrick in close, letting the other man nestle himself, face turned into the crook of David’s neck. “You are not a bad _anything_ ,” he says, voice soft but firm, fingers rubbing over the back of Patrick’s head and down his neck. “You are my lovely, sports-playing, theatre-performing, numbers-loving, guitar-playing husband, and you are wonderfully, _perfectly_ queer.” He presses a kiss to the side of Patrick’s head, one hand on the other side of it, and keeps him close for a moment.   
  
Eventually, Patrick lets out a breath and steps back, bringing a hand up briefly to touch his fingers to David’s cheekbone. “Thank you,” he tells him, and it sounds like he means it. “Sorry. I know that’s kind of...probably a weird thing to be working through at our age.” 

David shakes his head vehemently. “Everything you are saying makes perfect sense,” he assures him, just elated that Patrick was talking to him about it. “And you can work through all of this in your own time. You don’t have to follow any schedule. Contrary to popular belief, there is no gay agenda that you have to follow.” His mouth morphs into something more like a smirk. “Plus, trust me, _not_ having to wade through sweaty gay bars in Chelsea is a bonus to you, not a detriment. You got to skip straight to the husband part with none of the twenty dollar cocktails.” 

The sadness flickers across Patrick’s face again, and David wants to kick himself in the teeth. 

“I don’t know,” Patrick says, shrugging. “I guess...I kinda wish I just had the experience, you know? My twenties were spent trying to force a relationship that I didn’t want. I wish I could have been...exploring.” At David’s face, he corrects to, “Or connecting. Like you.” 

David frowns dramatically, considering. “I mean if you _want_ I can leave you waiting at the Wobbly Elm for an hour only to greet you with a terrible pick-up line and then we can do it in the car.” 

Patrick finally laughs, and it’s the best David’s felt all night. “Romantic.” 

“Mmm, very,” David hums back. “It’d be fast and sloppy and terrible and, ultimately, utterly forgettable and unfulfilling.” 

Patrick smiles at him. “I think I’ll stick with the husband, thanks.”  
  
David’s nodding as he wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck. “Yeah, good call.” He plants a firm kiss on his forehead before he pulls back. Patrick’s not over it. And he doesn’t have to be. For now, David’s just happy that he seems to have been able to massage away some of the hurt. 

\-----

Their evening progresses. They order food. They sit on the couch. Patrick’s deeply wrapped up in baseball playoffs, and David’s scrolling on his phone. They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, David’s legs draped over Patrick’s, a blanket stretching from one lap to the other. 

And David just can’t get their conversation out of his head. He sees Patrick’s point. He came out at 19 and was able to spend years exploring LGBTQ+ culture on his own. He mulled through bars, and bookshops, and museums, and dating apps. He got to meet countless lovely people from their community of every shape, race, and creed. Even if he didn’t really talk to those people anymore, and even if some of them had treated him _very_ poorly, he’d still done it. He never feels like he’s losing anything by living in Schitt’s Creek because he already had his time in that world. He already connected. 

He looks at his husband on the other end of the couch, yelling at the TV. Something in his heart breaks that Patrick feels separated from this when he’s...perfect. He’s exactly what all the queer warriors who came before them fought for. The chance to be exactly who he is, and love exactly who he does, and be left alone about it. 

But if it’s connecting to queer history he wants...David can do that. He pulls up his texts again, typing out a new one. She’s been working late recently, and he’s sure she’s up. 

**David:** i’m NOT saying anything definitive, but if patrick and i come into town for a weekend, we’re commandeering your couch

It doesn’t sound like a question, but it is. One he knows his sister of all people will understand. They don’t really ask things. They more...pitch things and see how the other reacts. Alexis’ typing bubble pops up nearly straight away. 

**Alexis:** Omg  
**Alexis:** YAY DAVID YAY  
**Alexis:** Also, duh.   
**Alexis:** Wait  
**Alexis:** Hang on 

Patrick looks over from his game at the rapid iMessage swooping sound, even as David scrambles to shut it up. “Everything okay?”

David just waves a hand, not looking at him, expression vaguely assaulted as he finally clicks the ringer off. 

**Alexis:** Okay, yes. Absolutely come, just not the weekend of the 5th.   
**Alexis:** So like, this weekend  
**Alexis:** I have a thing for work  
**Alexis:** But literally ANY other time, please come  
**Alexis:** Get sushi with me

 **David:** do you know how to send like, one text like a normal person

 **Alexis:** Can’t wait to see you!!  
**Alexis:** And Patrick, of course  
**Alexis:** Wait, why are you coming to New York?

David’s thumb taps absently at the side of his phone, wondering how much he should tell his sister. He didn’t really want her bombarding Patrick with options and overwhelming him, but he supposes she also might wind up being helpful in the long run. He decides to go with a shorter version of the truth. 

**David:** gay culture whirlwind tour

 **Alexis:** Love that for you. 

With that, he types ‘flights from Toronto to New York’ into Google and begins browsing flights into LaGuardia. 

The store’s doing better than ever thanks to their website and deal with the Rosebud group, and they have enough saved up to do it, especially with free lodging from Alexis. So he buys the tickets and starts building an itinerary in his notes app. Patrick’s likes surprises, and, thus far, David’s never successfully been able to pull one off.

And David’s going to show him every ounce of culture that he got to learn in the city he used to roam.


	2. It's a Walk-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. Bear with me for a moment. You may have noticed that this story took a couple of weeks off. I thank you for your patience while my attention was focused on the very real battle against injustice unfolding before our eyes in our country. I'd like to take a moment to say if you're here, I'm assuming you care about pride in some form or another. LGBTQ+ rights were built by queer black folx, and we wouldn't be here today without them. If you don't know the role that trans black women played fighting against police brutality at Stonewall, you should research it. This is a story about queer history and community, both which are inextricably linked to the BLM movement. Please continue to fight against police violence and continue to raise your voice, petition, donate, and protest. If you need resources on how to fight, please contact me on Tumblr @leopxld_fitz. My donation for the week went to the Atlanta homeless black trans women fund, which is a great place to start if you are unsure and able. 
> 
> Also, a special thank you to Sam, @brighter-than-sunshine on Tumblr, for helping me pick a spot in NYC for Alexis to live! Your expertise is so appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you. This chapter is extra long, just for you. Take care of each other. Happy Pride.

David tells him about the surprise after dinner one night, and Patrick has the  _ audacity _ to respond with, “You..wait, why not Toronto?” 

David blinks rapidly, eyes very nearly rolling back in his head, which moves backward, like he’s been slapped. He’s not actually offended. He thinks. Much. “Why not Toronto?” he repeats, drama dripping off of every syllable, hands a blur of motion in front of him. “I don’t -” He huffs, hands coming to rest definitively on his hips. Was this a terrible idea? It’s going to be very bad if it was a terrible idea, because this terrible idea is non-refundable. “Because I don’t know Toronto! Not that well, anyway. Not like I know New York, and I just thought -”

Then Patrick’s crossing the kitchen, and he silences his husband with a sound kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says after, beaming at David. “I’m sorry I just - I think you just surprised me, that’s all.” And David believes him, because Patrick looks... _ really _ happy now. “I don’t…” he takes a breath. Now it’s his hands on his hips while David’s fingers run over his neck and shoulders. “I don’t know what to say. When do we leave?” 

“A week,” David tells him, voice significantly less shrill now. “Just for the weekend. We fly out Thursday night, and then we spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in New York. We fly home that night.” He looks apprehensive. There’s a chance that Patrick could still shoot this whole thing down. He thinks that, in hindsight, a trip may not have been the best spontaneous surprise.

Patrick considers. “I’m not crazy about the idea of closing for a weekend with no notice, but I guess we could hire Jocelyn back for the weekend...” he trails off, and his smile is so small and stubborn and impossibly happy that it’s like it won’t budge from his face. 

David grimaces. “Or we could make Stevie do it.” 

“Jocelyn was great for sales. Also, Stevie has a job.”

“Stevie plays Hearts on an ancient computer for eight hours.”

Patrick gives him a look, and David knows he’s not going to bend on who they’re hiring, but he still looks happy, so he doesn’t fight it. “Yes,” Patrick finally agrees, smile growing. “Yes. Let’s go. Let’s do it.” 

David’s smiling but he’s biting it back, like he’s trying to stay modest or make sure that Patrick’s actually committed before displaying a full emotion. “Really?” he asks, almost squinting at him. “Because you don’t have to. I can call and rearrange, or...something, I don’t know.” 

Patrick puts a hand on David’s face, tilting his head to look at him. “It’s great, David. Thank you. Really.” He gives him a kiss, and David feels warm. “This is...beyond anything I could have expected.” 

“Yes, well,” David waves a hand before looking to Patrick with a mischievous smile. “Happy six months. Sorry it’s not a cookie.”

“Unbelievable,” is Patrick’s response, pushing off of David with an amused shake of his head and going to wash the dishes from their dinner. 

* * *

Living with Patrick, David has learned, is great.  _ Traveling _ with Patrick, is..different. 

David is a seasoned traveller. He has flown all over the world, including doing this particular flight from New York to Canada more times than he can count. It’s barely over an hour. He’s sat in traffic in LA for longer than they’ll be in the air. He’s done it all before. He’s not worried. 

He should have known, in hindsight, that Patrick would be a Planner. 

Their flight leaves at 4:05 PM, and they had agreed to let Jocelyn start on Thursday so that they could spend the day packing and get to the airport in plenty of time (David had had his outfits carefully laid out for days and just didn’t want to put them into a suitcase until the last minute - Patrick did not care that much and seemed to think this was the lowest priority task). To David, this meant showing up at the airport a couple of hours early with a 45 minute drive. Ergo, leaving somewhere between 1:15 and 1:30. 

To Patrick, somehow, this meant leaving at 11:00 AM. Because he looked at a website that said you should arrive for international travel four hours before. And none of David’s high-pitched, alarmed noises the night before when Patrick tells him this can change his mind at first. David has experience flying to places much, much further away. Like Japan. His husband still does not believe him.

And yes, David knows his husband is a  _ numbers _ guy and a  _ be prepared _ guy and a  _ take charge _ guy, but he was not anticipating the level of... _ Vacation Dad _ Patrick gets to when flying. Patrick insists that he travelled internationally to Paris for his senior trip during high school, and that he’s not nervous, but David doesn’t believe him. There is a printed out itinerary. There are copies of documents. David threatens to leave him in Toronto. He doesn’t know if he’s kidding or not. 

In the end, they settle on leaving at 12:15 PM to assuage Patrick and a drink will be purchased for David while they wait as a consolation. It only sort of works, as David brings up how quickly they made it through security and how early they are there a myriad of times, but Patrick seems so content to just be there with him that it keeps the full brunt of his snark at bay. They people-watch. Or rather, Patrick tries to read and David keeps interrupting him to discuss the people he’s watching. At some point, Patrick starts talking about how he thinks it would be cool to have a Rose Apothecary outpost in an airport, selling little travel sizes of everything. David likes the idea. A little local souvenir to take with you to other parts of the world, a slice of your home or a piece of wherever you’ve travelled. The romance of the idea makes David lean in to kiss Patrick in the middle of him talking. 

The flight itself passes uneventfully. David only hurts Patrick’s hand a little bit when they take off. Once in the air, David pulls out under eye gel patches out of tradition and puts them on before tearing open a second pair to put on his terribly amused looking husband. Patrick closes his eyes and smiles as he lets David tap them into place. They both get hot tea when the flight attendants come around with drinks and they spend most of the hour chatting, books abandoned on their tray tables. David fills out their customs form for them, and it sends a little  _ I’m married _ thrill down his spine that they count as one household. It’s mundane. It’s perfect.

It’s also the perfect time to be flying in, David thinks. It’s not dark yet, but it will be in about an hour, and the city is already glittering against the pastel sky as they descend. David is in the window seat, but he leans back subtly to stay out of the way of his husband’s view. The first time flying in over it is magical. He remembers. And he sees it all over his husband’s face, Patrick’s dark eyes bright and glowing. He gives Patrick’s hand a squeeze that has nothing to do with their current altitude and watches him see New York for the first time the whole way down.    
  
There are so few moments in life when you get to know that you made the right choice. It’s always the wrong ones that make themselves apparent. But seeing how excited Patrick is to see New York on this vacation and  _ knowing _ that he wouldn’t have looked like that if they were moving here...it gives David every inch of confirmation he didn’t know he needed that staying in Schitt’s Creek was the right call.   


Customs is a breeze and the next thing he knows they’ve got their luggage and are in the back of a car, headed towards SoHo. David texts his sister a quick heads up that they’re on their way and then spends the next 20 minutes of his life alternating between looking out at New York and looking at Patrick looking at New York. The effect it has is powerful. Any time he gets apprehensive about being back in the city, or his mind starts auto-populating bad memories or people from his time here, just looking at his husband and seeing the city through his eyes sets him at ease again. Patrick being here brings the city back a sense of wonder that David thought it’d lost a long time ago.

When they finally pull onto Sullivan Street, he spots Alexis waiting on the sidewalk, phone clutched in her hands between limp wrists, seemingly scanning the occupants of every car. The sight surprises him, but he has to fight the smile that wants to come to his face. They’re bad about being honest about when they miss each other, but he has.

When Alexis finally spots them, she bounds up to the car before David can even get the door open, practically bouncing in anticipation. The second he steps out, he lets her pull him into a tight hug. His arms come around after a moment of shock to fold around his sister, closing his eyes. Yeah. He missed her. He missed her a lot. 

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, hugging, not exchanging any words, but when they part, Patrick’s come to stand beside him with their suitcases and the car is pulling away. 

“I am  _ so _ happy you guys came,” Alexis croons, turning to hug Patrick in kind. 

“Hey, happy to be here,” Patrick replies, patting her back some as they hug. When he steps back, he says, “Thank you again for letting David and I crash with you.”

“Um, oh my God, of course,” Alexis says, swatting his arm. “You guys are always welcome, thank you so much for coming to visit.” 

“Okay, feeling like we’re beating around the bush here to the inevitable question,” David interrupts, a hand gesturing in a circle, rings glinting in the golden hour sun. One could accuse him of directing the conversation away from sincerity and back to territory he’s more comfortable with. One wouldn’t be wrong. 

It works, because Alexis huffs, brushing her hair off of one shoulder. “It’s not even that bad, David.” 

“How many floors, Alexis?”

“It’s seriously not a big deal.” 

“A walk-up with luggage is a walk-up with luggage. It’s all bad. How. Many. Floors. Alexis?”

Alexis lets out a frustrated, “ _ Ugh! _ ” followed by, “Okay, it’s five floors, but you get used to it so fast, and my thighs have literally never looked better in my life.” 

David’s alarm is clear on his face. “Well  _ my _ thighs are used to a flat driveway!” 

Patrick claps him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, David. Could be worse.” 

David pins him with a look of disgust, his hand having migrated to float near his neck and shoulder, fingers curling in on themselves. “How?” he asks with a flourishing shake of his head. 

Patrick grins. Hikes his suitcase into his arm. “Could be the sixth floor,” he says, tossing his husband a wink before heading towards the stairs. 

Alexis turns to him, amusement clear in her eyes, top lip overlapping her bottom. Her look is pointed, wide eyes, shoulders curling for a brief moment, loose hands pressed together at her chest. She follows Patrick up. 

“Okay, so no offer to help?” David calls after her. When it’s clear that no one is coming back, he mutters a soft but horrified, “Oh my fucking God,” to himself. He looks around. Kicks his luggage once to set it on its wheels. And then starts to - slowly - make his way up the stairs. 

By the time he gets to the top, his husband is waiting in the doorway, arms crossed, looking amused as he leans against the door jamb. “How we doing there, David?” he asks, getting what, if you ask David, is  _ clearly _ too much enjoyment out of the situation. 

“How we’re  _ doing _ ,” David answers, punctuating his words by heaving his suitcase up another few steps. “Is bad. I am sweaty, and I am hungry, and no one fucking told me,” another few steps. “That Alexis lived on a Stairmaster.” He lugs it up the last few steps, scowling deeply as he steps past Patrick to roll his suitcase into his sister’s apartment. 

“Okay, I told you it was a walk-up,” Alexis calls from her bedroom. “It’s not my fault that mom raised you with selective hearing.” She emerges from behind the screen separating her bedroom from the rest of her apartment holding two blankets and a couple of pillows. 

“I do not have selective hearing,” David snaps back. “I listen to what you say. You have selective truth-telling.” 

Alexis ignores the retort. Instead, she puts the pillows and blankets down on the couch next to where Patrick has settled and then stares at her brother, eyebrows up, eyes wide. “Okay, David?”

“What?” David asks absently, who has started looking for a suitable place to set his belongings down. 

“David.”

“I’m listening,” he tells her, an edge to his voice as he finally decides the corner is likely the safest space for his suitcase. 

“David, I am being so serious, look at me.” 

David whips his head around from his bent over position to hiss, “Yes?” at her. “What? What do you want?” 

Alexis maintains the eye contact, pointing a finger. “No sex. Anywhere. In or around this couch. I mean it. I have to live here.” 

David rights himself, looking attacked. “Okay first of all? Ew,” he emphasizes the second word, and there’s a punctuating hand gesture, fingers pressed into a point. “Second,  _ why _ would I ever want to have sex literally anywhere in the vicinity of where my sister lives?”

Alexis folds her arms, pinning him with a challenging look. “You had sex at the motel.” 

David spreads his arms. “So did you! There was a lack of options.” 

Patrick’s voice comes in a squeak from the couch, “You had sex at the motel?” 

The Roses don’t hear him and continue their argument. Alexis huffs, hair practically vibrating. “Look, I don’t know what kind of freaky fantasy New York sex you’re into, okay? And I really, really do not want to know.” 

“I don’t  _ have _ freaky fantasy New York sex!” David snaps. “I had  _ plenty _ of great sex while I  _ lived  _ here and -” he looks at his husband, who has the exact face on that David expected. Patrick’s eyebrows are in his hairline, eyes wide and panicked, a small, humorless, borderline helpless smile on his face. David points at him. “And it meant nothing! It meant nothing compared to sharing a life with my husband, who is you.” 

“ _ Great _ save, David,” Patrick says, giving him a thumbs up. “Doing good.”

David rolls his eyes and turns back to his sister. “ _ Point being! _ ” he says louder than he needs to, hands moving in a circle in front of him. “I have literally zero intentions of doing anything in your apartment.” 

Alexis’ head bobs some on her shoulders. “You better not. Because it’s gross, David.” 

“Oh my God, how many times do I have to say I’m not before this conversation ends?” 

Alexis stares for a moment more. “Gross,” she repeats before stalking out of the room, bracelets jingling behind her. 

He rolls his eyes grandly at his sister, but for the first time since they came in, he’s actually noticing her apartment. It’s pretty small - much smaller than his apartment when he lived in the city - but even he has to admit that she’s done a great job of fixing it up. The space is done up in mostly shades of teal, indigo, cream, and gold, with lots of candles and lamps around. He remembers somewhere in the depth of his mind that Alexis used to be afraid of the dark. He wonders if she’s lonely. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel and makes a mental note to call more. 

The space itself, tiny though it may have been, isn’t that bad to begin with. Her kitchen has a stove with four burners, even though it looks barely wide enough to fit a frozen pizza into. But the ceilings are relatively high for a building like this and the glossy hardwood floors make it gleam in a way that highlights the way she’s chosen to decorate. His eyes land on her fridge, which has a handful of photos stuck to it. Mostly of their family. All from Schitt’s Creek. It’s small, but it is definitively  _ hers, _ and that thought makes his heart swell a bit with pride. He knows from experience that if she can afford her own place in SoHo, it means she’s doing well. And he’s glad, because he knows how hard she’s worked. He knows how much she has earned it. A traitorous voice offers that she’s earned her life far more than he’s earned his, but he pushes it away. He can’t pick at that right now. 

David’s picking his toiletries out of his bag carefully, inspecting each of them for leakage, planning on heading directly into the shower. It’s only 6:30 PM, and he wants to get cleaned up before he takes Patrick out tonight. But then Alexis comes bounding out, excitedly talking about ordering sushi, and his stomach reminds him that it is definitely time to eat. 

Alexis plops down on the couch, putting her laptop on Patrick’s lap, talking him through the menu of her favorite place, one forearm leaning on his shoulder. David curls up on Patrick’s other side, pulling his legs up on the couch, head pressed up to Patrick’s neck. He doesn’t think about it at such a deep level, but there’s a contentment coursing through him as they sit there, two Rose shaped commas on either side of Patrick as Patrick gets a crash course on New York food. Alexis and David order sushi while Patrick tries out a noodle dish that Alexis gives a rave review, and David pays for it as a subtle thank you. 

After the food is ordered David finally slinks off to the shower, armed with his bag of toiletries and a change of clothing. He tries not to take too long, but Alexis’ shower is actually - shockingly - decently sized and the water pressure is good and it’s a relief to be able to wash the travel off of him. When he gets out, he steals his sister’s blow dryer to redo his hair and then performs only the essential skincare steps before rejoining his family in the living room. 

He’s not sure what he expected, but he stops short when he comes out and sees Patrick and Alexis settled on either end of her couch, takeaway boxes spread out between them, both laughing ridiculously hard about something. If he were more overtly sentimental, he’d take a picture. He settles for taking an internal one instead. The amount of sentiment is almost overwhelming. He never thought any version of him would get this - to be in New York with his sister, with a husband, with the knowledge that they’re all happy. Even just on vacation.

“Sorry I’m late to the party,” he says, padding over. He steals a kiss from his husband and then peruses the food selection, taking up a pair of chopsticks and ripping the paper off before splitting them and rolling them between his palms. “Where’s my lobster roll?” he asks his sister. 

The question is innocent. Her reaction is not. She stops chewing, eyes a little wide. “I ordered the lobster roll.” 

He blinks at her, eyebrows lifting up. “Um? I ordered the lobster roll. I always order the lobster roll. Alexis, did you eat my lobster roll?!” 

Alexis jabs her chopsticks at a leftover chunk of rice in the tray - apparently all that’s left of David’s dinner. “You used to eat my food all the time at the Motel, David!” 

“Mmmkay, just so you know? You owe me another one,” he tells her, settling for the baked salmon roll that she had apparently abandoned in favor of his order. He squirts a packet of soy sauce over it and then picks up a piece, looking at Patrick in question, who nods and holds out his container. David plops in the piece and then picks up a small bundle of noodles and puts it on his tray in exchange. 

They eat together, like a family, David perched between two of his favorite people. And he knows they took this trip for Patrick, but he thinks that it might just be healing him, too. 

* * *

By the time 8:00 rolls around, David and Patrick are bidding his sister, who has curled up on the couch with a blanket and already has the TV on, goodbye. They make their way down the steps with significantly more ease than they ascended them, and start out into the brisk night air. The bar is only a mile and a half away, so David figures that they’ll just walk on the way there so that Patrick can get a taste of the city at night, and call a car to go back if they’re feeling lazy or tipsy. 

He thinks that his husband has made a few (correct) assumptions about where they’re going based on the outfit he’s chosen. He’s back in that - exceptionally tight - short-sleeved button-down that he wore to Jake’s that David teased him about but that made his arms look so good, despite them currently being covered with a blazer to fend off the cool autumnal evening air. But the most telling thing he’s wearing is the layer of nervous energy that is practically cascading off of him as they walk, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he observes around them. He looks less in awe now and more like he’s...sorting. Categorizing. Thinking deeply. 

David slides his arm through the crook of his husband’s elbow, trying to get him out of his head. “Hey,” David calls, bringing his other hand to rest gently on Patrick’s upper arm, giving it a light squeeze. 

Patrick looks at him, like he’s maybe just registering again that he’s not there alone. He sucks in a deep breath. “Hey,” he croaks back, voice low, eyebrows worrying over his eyes.    
  
And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. Tonight wasn’t the night, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Fuck. They haven’t even been here four hours and David’s already pushed him too far out of his comfort zone. And he doesn’t know how to fix it. He brings them to a stop, stepping off to the side of the sidewalk for a moment. He clears his throat. “Um, if you aren’t…” he shakes his head some, eyes closing briefly for a moment before continuing. “We don’t have to do anything that you aren’t ready for,” David tells him softly. “Or we can try this another night. It’s...there’s no pressure.” 

The way Patrick is looking at him, open and just a little scared and a lot shy, pulls on his heartstrings and reminds him of the early days in their relationship. Makes David remember that they aren’t just here to expose Patrick to more New York gay culture - that they’re making  _ foundational experiences _ in his life. Patrick keeps looking at him like that for a moment before dropping his gaze, reaching out to toy with the hem of David’s sweater. “No,” he tells him. The word has conviction behind it, even if his voice still sounds a little raw. “No, I think - I think I wanna go.” He looks up, eyes focused on the lamp post next to them that’s throwing amber light across his face, doing something to his brown eyes that makes David’s heart do a funny little  _ thwump _ . “I’ve just ah...I’ve never done anything like this.” 

David bites back the teasing remark that says something like  _ yes, I know, that’s why we’re here _ , recognizing that his husband’s serious tone probably indicated that now wasn’t the time. “And we don’t have to,” he says, taking Patrick’s hands in his. “I was...I mean, if it helps, I was going to take you to a gay bar, but one that I really think you’ll like. Nothing overwhelming.” 

For a moment, confusion erodes the apprehension on Patrick’s face, and David wonders when he’ll stop doing that to him. Rearranging David’s expectations every ten seconds. He hopes he never does. 

“Oh,” Patrick blinks a few times, processing. “No, I meant...well, yes, the bar had something...I was really talking about...this,” He gives David’s hands a squeeze for emphasis. “Just um. Being out. In a big city like this.” Patrick shrugs sheepishly, eyes staying on David’s, warm but worried, before dropping to their hands where he eyes David’s wedding band. “It just feels different. Different than being back home, I mean. I guess that’s kind of silly, huh?”    


“It’s not silly,” David’s quick to say, voice soft but thick with emotion. He chastises himself internally again for not thinking of that, either. They’re out, they’re married, but it’s a different thing to be out and married in a very small town where you know pretty much everyone than it is to be out and married in a city of over eight million people. The level of visibility increases dramatically. David had never had a choice to blend in. It wasn’t in his nature. But Patrick had. “It’s not silly. It’s very brave.” Off Patrick’s skeptical look, David insists, “It is. But if it’s something that’s making you uncomfortable, then we can head back. Or, if you still want to go, we don’t have to, um, hold hands or anything on the way there.” 

“Of course I want to hold your hand, David,” Patrick insists, lifting his gaze to make eye contact. David stands by his statement. Patrick is brave. Even if he won’t see it. “That’s why I married you. I never want to stop holding your hand. Even when people are looking.”    
  
Patrick’s gay journey has no right to make David feel this ridiculously loved up, he’s decided. 

David lets out a soft little breath through his nose, blinking rapidly and looking away from his husband’s earnest gaze. He likes to think he’s gotten good at guarding himself over the years, but Patrick’s always had a way of cutting him to the quick with sincerity. “Well. That is. Very romantic of you.” 

“I mean it,” Patrick replies steadily, looking more sure than he had a few moments ago. “I’m just still getting used to it. That’s all. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do this.” Then Patrick analyzes him for a few breaths before stepping forward, the toes of his loafers bumping against David’s sneakers. He raises a hand to David’s cheek, shy but solid, and then leans in to press a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips.    
  
When they break, David can’t stop the way his eyes crinkle at him. He knows he must look deliriously happy. He can’t help it. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Patrick replies, giving David’s hands a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s keep walking.” 

They keep walking, but Patrick’s holding his hand now, and David’s glad they stopped to talk. He wants to be as dutiful of a spouse as he can be throughout this. He wants to get it right, because Patrick’s too important to get it wrong. 

Patrick asks questions about New York and David answers them as best as he can, filling in the gaps with the stories that he feels like telling. It’s a kind of vulnerability that he’s still not used to. Even now. Even married. They aren’t hitting close to any of the things that really hurt, but all of it stings. He’s only soothed by the fact that he knows it’s his past. That Patrick’s his present. It feels like an exercise in security for the both of them, with Patrick holding on to him in public and David recounting his past, passing under street lamps, letting their fears disappear into the sound of the city.

By the time they arrive, Patrick’s nervous vibe has returned some, and he eyes the bar warily, coming to a stop. David gives him space to observe and orient himself. Brace himself for whatever he thinks is coming next. Patrick’s eyes flit between things. The giant rainbow flag in the large front window that obscures the inside. The fliers for events peppering the bottom. The signs on the door that advertise it as a space being welcoming to all.    
  
David comes up behind him, gently resting his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “What are you thinking?” He knows for a fact that Patrick will love this place. But he doesn’t want to force it. He wants it to be his choice. 

Patrick opens his mouth to respond but then closes it, making heavy eye contact with their reflections in the window. They always look like quite the pair to the eye, no matter how well their hearts fit together. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. 

David nods, still smoothing his hands over Patrick’s shoulders, trying to be soothing. It’s blessedly, unnaturally quiet on the street. Like Manhattan as a whole was choosing to respect their privacy somehow. “Okay, well, you don’t have to know,” David tells him. “It’s not too late to turn around. We can come back. Or we don’t have to do this at all. No shame. No pressure.” He lets that settle, watching as Patrick digests the words, nodding as David speaks. After a moment, he softly continues, “But if you want to, I think this is a place you’ll really like.” 

Patrick looks at the ground, kicking absently at a stone, contemplating something that David doesn’t ask about. When he turns around, he looks resolved. “I trust you,” he says quietly. His eyes are so wide and warm that David thinks he might fall in. 

It’s enough to trigger some leftover impulse in David’s brain that he should turn and run, just in case Patrick hates it, and then hates him by extension. He shoves it back and takes his husband by the hand, opening the door for him and leading him inside. 

Once again, Patrick’s eyes dart everywhere, but he seems to be less apprehensive with every passing second. The room is big and fairly open, what with it being a Thursday night around 9:00. There are enough locals and regulars that it doesn’t feel deserted, but it’s nowhere near the packed, sweaty clubs that David used to frequent. They’ve got rainbow icicle lights along one brick wall, and various rainbow-clad decorations throughout the bar. Large TV’s are stationed around the space, playing various games, including the most recent MLB playoffs game. There are a few posters in the space of prominent gay athletes. Jason Collins, Michael Sam, John Amaechi. The extremely muscular bartenders are clad in tight ribbed tanks and baseball caps.    
  
Patrick’s face has shifted to amusement, an incredulous smile inching across his face slowly. “David, did you...did you take me to a gay sports bar?” He looks over at him, one eyebrow cocked up. 

“Um. Yes, yeah, I did,” David admits so quietly that it’s almost inaudible over the pop music playing, feeling self-conscious. “But if you hate it we can leave.” 

“It’s...no, it’s…” Patrick rubs a hand over his face, looking  _ happy _ , and David feels a tiny swell of pride at having done something right. Patrick turns to him. “It’s great,” he tells him. “I think I’m just...surprised. This doesn’t really seem like anywhere you would have gone.” 

“Oh, it’s not,” David says with a flip of his hand. “No, the places I went were...very different, I assure you. For many, many reasons. For one, there’d be a lot more people. And a lot less clothing. And we’d have to be a lot less sober.” He expects that to be it, but Patrick’s still looking at him, expecting an explanation. “Oh, okay, um,” David continues when he realizes he’s still being prompted. “I just thought this one seemed like something you’d like,  _ actually _ enjoy. I didn’t want to drag you to somewhere you were going to hate just for the sake of culture.” He shrugs, twisting at the ring on his middle finger. “I don’t know, I wanted you to see this place. See other gay people with your same interests and know that you weren’t like, wrong or a bad at being queer or something. I just wanted you to know that every single part of you is gay, if that makes sense.” 

Patrick swallows, emotion thick on his face, visible in the creases between his eyebrows. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he says after a moment. Then he grabs David with more gusto than he did on the street and gives him a firm kiss, right there in the middle of the bar. 

The rest of the night passes in a happy blur. They sidle up to the bar and take a seat. David orders a regional white wine while Patrick chats with the bartender about his beer preferences, who then hooks him up with something hyper-local that sounds incredibly weird to David but that Patrick seems to be into. For the most part, David hangs back and plays the role of the patient spouse, happy, for once, to sit quietly and watch. He sips his wine and watches Patrick as his confidence grows. Patrick’s gets into a rousing discussion of the Blue Jays season with another bar patron and the bartender, and David has no fucking idea what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t need to.    
  
Patrick’s actually...kind of a natural. By the end of the night, he’s gathered a group of two or three guys to chat with. David’s saved from wondering if Patrick knows he could date any of these men when one of them offers him their phone number. Patrick declines, heartbreakingly polite as ever, and puts a hand on David’s shoulder, stating that he’s here with his husband, and David gets to feel multiple things at once. 1. Intense, unfettered joy at the way Patrick lights up when he gets to introduce David as a spouse, and 2. Shock at the other man’s response, which is a jovial, “Oh! I was wondering who the queen was.” 

David’s head moves back on his shoulders, dismayed. “The  _ queen? _ ”

Patrick intervenes - thankfully - with a, “He is a drama queen, yes,” and then gives David a fond kiss before redirecting the conversation, and David takes a deep breath and lets it go. Some of them exchange numbers anyway, talking about a fantasy...league or...something. 

But really, he’s happy that Patrick’s happy. He’s happy that he was able to bring him here and prove his point about things like being gay and liking sports having nothing to do with each other, about it all being okay because it’s all him. He’s happy that his jock husband gets to make friends and stretch his limbs in a way that makes sense for him. He’s happy that Patrick gets to alternate between conversations, and observing the decorations, and watching the game on the TV, and looking at the bartenders that make David feel like he should maybe start going to the gym (though at some point the bartender that’s been chatting with Patrick the most takes pity on David and produces a plate of french fries on the house, and that makes him like him more).

They wind up drinking. And then drinking some more. Patrick drinks because he’s having a great time, David drinks out of a lack of other activities. Patrick switches to whiskey while David decides to be responsible and hydrate by pausing for some water in between glasses of wine. At some point David insists on making his husband dance to Carly Rae Jepsen with him, which Patrick indulges gladly. Multiple drinks in, Patrick greets someone just trying to get past them with, “Hi. I’m Patrick. This is my husband…we’re Canadian,” and David literally physically puts his face in his hands for a lack of being able to process how simultaneously adorable and embarrassing Drunk Patrick can be.

At the end of the night, David’s more coherent than Patrick, so he pays their tab and tips generously while Patrick says goodbye to his new friends. David gets them loaded into the back of a Lyft for the ten minute drive back to Alexis’ place.    
  
Patrick is slumped in his seat, head lolling against David’s shoulder, actively petting the front of his sweater. “I’m so gay,” he tells David, who has to press his lips together to suppress his laughter. “I’m so gay, and I’m married, and that’s so great. David. David, we got married.”    
  
His volume increases towards the end, causing David to wince and let out a soft, “ _ Oo _ kay,” reaching up to gently put a soothing hand on the side of Patrick’s face, encouraging him to lay his head back down. “Yes, honey, I know. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.” He presses a kiss to Patrick’s hair. “Now let’s get you some water and some sleep.”   
  
As they pull up to the apartment, it occurs to David that he would gladly carry Patrick up the steps any day. 


End file.
